


ELP's Buffet Misadventures

by CookerShip



Category: Emerson Lake & Palmer (Band)
Genre: Crack Fic, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookerShip/pseuds/CookerShip
Summary: Greg Lake drags his band mates to a Chinese buffet.





	ELP's Buffet Misadventures

“Carl, Keith! Hurry up, will ya!” Greg impatiently exclaimed. 

“Hold ya horses will you mate? The buffet isn’t going anywhere,” Keith protested. 

“Yeah, Greg. I still haven’t finished brushing my hair or picking out an outfit!” Carl chimed in. 

“Well, maybe if you guys would have woken up earlier, ‘oo’d be ready by now for godssake,” Greg complained. 

“You’re just going to have to be patient, Greg. Now sod off,” Keith quipped. 

Greg merely grunted angrily in response and walked off, mumbling to himself about fuck this and fuck that. With Greg out of the NYC hotel room and out of sight altogether, Carl sighed in relief. 

“I swear,” Carl began, looking over at Keith, who was struggling to jump into a tight pair of light blue cuffed jeans. “The man’s never awake and ready unless he knows food’s gonna be involved. We’ve got two whole days off before we need to leave for our next concert!”

Carl waved his arms up in the air for exaggerated emphasis. 

“You’re right, you know,” Keith agreed, still struggling to get his pants on correctly. 

Keith’s thighs were still exposed as he kept trying to worm into the tight garment. 

“Christ, mate!” Carl exclaimed. “Why don’t you lay on the bed first and pull those bloody things on.”  
“Oh, right,” Keith groggily agreed. 

Keith turned and hopped over to the bed, his legs still trapped together by his pant legs. Carl turned and continued to work product into his long soft brown hair. 

"La, la la,” Carl hummed as he worked in a chipper fashion. ‘Le, le, le!!!’ he screeched. 

“I swear, you’re almost like a woman,” Keith groaned, inching his pants halfway up his thighs. 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with looking your best and feeling good while doing so, honey,” Carl responded, shaking his finger back and forth at Keith. 

The small hairy keyboardist, flushed with effort, dramatically groaned as he reached the home stretch and his trousers finally found this home on his lower stomach. He sighed heavily in relief, huffing with exertion. 

“Christ! Sounds like you just had a right wank!” Carl laughed, giggling away at the thought.

“Ugnh!” Keith groaned, raising his legs in the air and with some effort, launching himself off the bed. He stumbled momentarily before regaining his balance. 

“You look perfect, darling. Now why don’t you let me in front of that mirror so I can brush me hair, mm?” Keith purred, approaching Carl and flexing a finger under the baby-faced drummer’s formidable chin. 

“Oh, all right,” Carl frowned, looking at his prized reflection one last time before reluctantly trudging away to find some clothes. 

“Narcissus, Narcissus!” came Greg’s voice from the doorway. “What’s taking ‘oo both so bloody long!” Greg’s round face popped in the room, followed by the rest of his slightly thick body. 

“Oh, I’m hurt!” Keith mockingly groaned, closing his eyes to a grimacing effect and clutching his hairy hands to his heart. 

“It’s not like you need to go to the buffet,” Carl’s soft muffled voice came from under a tight mint green t-shirt he was working his way into. 

“Now it’s time for li’l ‘ol me to be hurt, aww…” Greg replied sarcastically, gripping a meaty fist to his chest. 

“Give us a couple more minutes. Christ, Greg!” Carl protested in a high pitched voice.

“Sure thing, Candy,” Greg mocked before leaving the hotel room yet again. 

“Oh! Where can me trousers be!” Carl whined, his voice ever higher pitched. 

“Have you tried looking in that huge pile of rejected stage outfits on the floor?” Keith snorted, pointing at the tangled mass of Carl’s clothing heaping over every which way. And this was only half of what he usually brought with him on tour. 

Oh right, very helpful of you, Keith,” Carl said appreciatively.  
He then proceeded to frolic along merrily, waving his arms side by side, over to the massive pile of clothing. The buff, yet baby-faced drummer, picked up a pair of jeans that he had only worn for an instance the other night before deciding they clashed with his outfit. Carl pulled himself into his tight, although not as tight as Keith’s, bell bottoms. He then quickly snapped up a fresh pair of socks, slipped into those and having put on his boots and finished lacing them, beamed up at Keith. 

“How do I look?” he asked Keith. 

“Simply...ravishing, darling,” Keith replied, exaggerating the word ravishing.

“Oh! I could just eat me up!” Carl yelped, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror and admiring his fair reflection. 

“La, la, LAA!!!” Carl sung to himself, hopping about the modest length of the hotel room, and picking up a coat to complete the his ensemble. 

Meanwhile, Keith slipped a striped tank top over his hairy torso. He put on his thick socks and long shin-high boots, quickly lacing them up. He finished off the look with a hat.  
“Well, now that we’re decent, let’s go report back to the beast in the lobby,” Keith joked. 

“You sure you don’t need a coat, mate?” Carl inquired, raising an eyebrow at the ever hairy keyboardist. 

“Got a feeling I won’t be needing one today,” Keith said knowingly. 

“Right,” Carl replied, giggling at his band mate’s obvious stupidity. 

They walked out of the room with Carl turning around to lock the door behind them. They meandered down the hallway and into the lobby below, where Greg was sitting on a lobby couch and tapping his foot impatiently. 

“Oh, THERE you’s are!” Greg exclaimed, dramatically arching his head back and placing the back of his hand over his forehead. 

Carl chuckled at the spectacle. 

“Come on, then,” Keith said, motioning to the hotel entrance. 

“Ah, finally!” Greg yelped, getting off the lobby couch and stretching. “Thought I’d die of starvation on that couch,” he added dramatically, motioning to his stomach. 

“Come off it, mate,” Carl joked, nudging his elbow into Greg’s side.

A few minutes later they found themselves in a taxi on the way to the mythical Chinese eating establishment. 

“So, what do ‘oo two think you’re ‘aving, eh?” Greg asked his bandmates. 

“Dunno, mate. Tell ya the truth, I’m still waking up,” Carl groggily replied, stifling a yawn. 

“What’s about ‘oo then, Keith?” Greg turned to the seemingly eyebrowless keyboardist virtuoso to his right. 

“I don’t focking know,” Keith angrily mumbled at Greg. 

“Oi! What’s the matter with ‘oo?!” Greg asked, brows raised. 

“Dunno, maybe the fact I’m sandwiched in between your girth and the door handle of the taxi,” Keith snapped. 

“It’s pretty comfy to me,” Carl mumbled groggily. “Just leaning into Greg’s soft side. Like I’m back in bed, mmm.” Carl sounded intoxicated with Greg’s pillowy side.

Keith was left speechless and the car was silent until the faint sound of snoring came from Greg’s left side. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Keith groaned. “Carl fell asleep leaning on you!” Keith flung his hands up in disbelief. 

“Well, he better wake up before we get there… if we get there, this fockin’ traffic!” Greg complained.

“Tell me about it, brutha!” the taxi driver’s thick New York accent chimed in agreement. 

“‘Oo’d think by now they’d invent a flying car!” Greg exclaimed. 

“Maybe in the 21st century,” the taxi driver said dryly. 

“Did ‘oo know, I sang on a song called 21st Century Schizoid Man?” Greg asked, gloating. 

“Oh, really? Never heard of it. Can’t say I recognize you neither.”

An eruption of laughter emanated from Keith. “Ha ha ha HA HA HA!!!” Keith laughed maniacally.  
Keith’s loud raucous laughter caused Carl to stir. 

“Huh, what’s that? We there yet?” Carl asked, still half asleep.

“Nah, man. We’re stuck in traffic,” Greg replied somberly. 

“What’s wrong, mate? I thought you were all fired up to go to the buffet.”

Greg remained silent so Keith spoke up.

“He just got slagged off by the taxi driver. I’m giving ‘im a tip just for that!” Keith said, still laughing. 

“Amen, brutha!” the taxi driver merrily exclaimed.

Carl chuckled. “Chin up, Greg. We’ll be there before long.”

Two hours later… The taxi let the trio off on the street where the buffet was. 

“Thanks, mate,” Keith said, paying the cab fare. “And here’s some extra for being top notch.”

“Cool, man!” the taxi driver exclaimed before driving off, leaving the trio in a huff of noxious smoke. 

Carl and Keith coughed vigorously. Greg, however, was nonplussed by the fumes. Keith and Carl glared at him.

“Smoker’s perks,” Greg declared proudly, pulling on his coat lapels. 

“If you can call it that,” Carl said darkly.”

“Now then, why don’t we find this buffet,” Greg said, grinning.

“Wait, you mean to say you don’t even know where it is?” Keith said, frowning up at Greg, who towered over him.

“Well, yeah. I overheard some blokes at the hotel talking about a buffet on West 128th Street,” Greg replied.

“Why you little….” Keith began before launching himself at Greg and gripping tightly to his button down shirt whose buttons threatened to pop. 

“Oi! ‘Oo’ll rip me shirt!” Greg complained.

“Leave ‘im alone, Keith,” Carl warned in a squeaky voice. “Let go of ‘im!” he added when Keith still held onto Greg’s shirt. 

Keith let go of Greg’s shirt and mocked, “Alright, don’t wanna mess up your pillow now do we?”

“Can’t help it if the man’s soft as downy,” Carl replied, not taking the bait. 

“Come on, let’s walk the street up and down to find the place,” Greg insisted, eager to sink his teeth into some delectable Chinese food. 

“Fuck you, Greg,” Keith mumbled. 

“Let’s get this bread!” Carl squeaked. 

“Er…”

Greg and Keith looked dumbfounded at Carl’s announcement. 

“‘O-’oo do know what that means, don’t you?” Greg asked, incredulous. 

“Yeah, it means going out to eat, duh!” Carl said, grinning. 

Keith looked at Greg and rolled his eyes. 

“Aaanyway… Let’s go, mates!” Greg exclaimed. 

They sauntered off down the street, looking at all the different shops and buildings. The trio passed by countless storefronts and apartments, but the buffet remained elusive. After what seemed an eternity, Keith finally spoke up.

“Oi, Greg,” Keith gasped, tired from running around for hours. “I think you heard wrong. Let’s go back to the hotel and order room service. I’m hungry as balls after all this running about.”

“Yeah!” Carl chimed in, squeaking. 

“Hold on a minute, let me ask someone first before we ‘ail a taxi,” Greg said, gasping for breath himself.

The allure of a buffet was too strong from him to give up just yet.

“Okay,” Keith began, “But if it’s not close by we’re hailing a taxi whether you want to come with us or not.”

Greg walked over to a storefront nearby and walked inside. 

“‘Scuse me, sir?” Greg asked the employee behind the counter. 

“Yes, how may I help you?” the employee replied in that dead ‘I’ve been on my feet for hours but still have to act like I care about the customer’ voice.

“‘Ave ‘oo ‘eard of the Extra Golden Delicious Chinese Buffet? I was told it was on this street but I ‘aven’t ‘ad much luck finding it.”

The employee looked at Greg like he had three heads for moment before answering the question.  
“Uh, buddy… I don’t know what to tell ya but that place has been closed for about ten years now. Real shame too, they had the best food for cheap.” 

Greg arched an eyebrow. “Really?” he said, trying to keep his composure. “Thanks, anyway.”

Greg walked outside, where Keith was glaring around him, slick with sweat and Carl was holding his jacket in one arm and fanning himself with his free hand. 

“Well,” Greg began, voice cracking with emotion. 

Carl turned towards Greg, frowning from the heat and exhaustion and asked, “Where’s the bloody place?” 

“Apparently it’s been closed for ten odd years. Funny, huh?!” Greg flung his arms up in the air, eyes wide, voice cracking ever more as he let out shaky nervous laughter.

Keith and Carl looked at each other. Keith crossed his eyes and spun a finger by the side of his ear in a ‘cucko’ motion. Carl giggled. 

“Are you focking kidding me, man!” Keith asked sarcastically, cracking up at Greg’s misfortune. 

“They have egg rolls on the room service menu. I saw ‘em when I was ordering something last night,” Carl piped up after a dramatic pause. 

Greg and Keith looked at each other and then at Carl who was staring at them with that signature giant grin on his face, teeth glittering in the sunlight. Keith started to laugh again and Carl joined in, never one to pass up some humor. Greg furrowed his brow but then joined in the giggling and chuckling in spite of himself. 

“Well, let’s go back and have some room service egg rolls,” Carl said after their laughing fit subsided. 

“Yeah,” Greg agreed.  
“Pretty sure they’re still open,” Keith joked, winking at Greg. 

The trio hailed a taxi which took another two hours to arrive back at the hotel. Greg nearly fainted from hungry so he had Keith make the order over the phone. That’s when he learned that egg rolls were only served there on Sundays for some weird reason and he collapsed onto his bed to the mirth of Keith who laughed so hard he passed out too and Carl flung himself onto the floor to not feel left out. 

The end.


End file.
